Kara wakes up to a finger gently brushing down the ridge of her nose, a happy hum caught on the edge of a sigh. It's warm and cool and she can feel from the way her skin barely shivers, still exhausted but so content, that the sun hasn't risen, yet. But there's still that warmth in the welcome weight of something so familiar and sleepy arms thoughtlessly tug the warmth closer, nose wrinkling underneath that same finger as she does.
There's a faint, rumbling laugh, and when Kara owlishly blinks, all she sees for a moment is Catherine's soft smile before the rest of the world highlights her in framed tints of blue and gray and green. The world—the city; the hotel; their bed—fills in like a water colored paint by numbers behind a sea of brown and green and a smile, as unbiddenly genuine as it is small, slowly spreads across parting lips.
When she'd first come to Metropolis, it wasn't by choice. Not much of her life until recently had been by choice, really, but the city was a far-cry from the fields she'd crash-landed in.
When she had stumbled out of the pod dirt had sunk underneath cold bare feet and she had never felt a thing quite like it—the first thing in a string of things she'd never felt, before—and she had been so petrified that she would sink into that brown, mussy pool of brown mercury (she had never truly known pools of much else) and be lost forever. She was thirteen and alone save for the strong palm of a hand that felt more familiar than her scattered thoughts could take in, the scent of corn and wheat and grass sinking into her bones with a frantic, panting breath.
She'd struggled—or so she's told—out of fear and disorientation. It had rained the night before (an unfamiliar scent clinging to that corn and grass and mud) and fog had covered their ankles when Kara had frantically looked up to covered blue eyes, sweat staining her unknown cousin's brow from the exertion of holding her. She hadn't learned how to fight, then (just how to dance and sing and think and run) but she still had taken him down into the dirt with her in a scrappy little way that might have destined her to always be a Danvers, through and through, struggling with him in the mud to run away.
The story, every time Kal-El tells it, gets more and more dramatic, but Kara's first memories are simple and tinted by an ever-lasting, pressing feeling against her chest—an anxious, restless weight—and everytime she thinks of it, it takes her a moment to remember how to breathe.
All she remembers was Kal-El's frightened voice booming, hands raising up to her shoulders to hold her close—to bring her ear to his heart, a trait shared by their family line—
Zha—
Was the first word he ever said to her—the first word they ever shared.
She'd stopped immediately, brows furrowing because his accent had been as thick and sloppy as the dirt staining his cheeks and she whispered back and the memory of him is like a skyscraper, mussed dark locks curling like tendrils into the sky as he eclipsed the moon's light—
Zha-ehd? Kryptahnium?
He'd blinked at her response.
Like me?
She'd tried interlac next, stumbling back, eyes frantic as they took in the world-there was so much of it; so much-but when enough light tumbled over her house's symbol she had nearly been brought to her knees a second time in the dirt outside of a farm, hands tracing the symbol with a feverish gasp. But he hadn't seemed to understand, so she tried again-
Khahp nahzhgehn khap
But he just stared so blankly, apologizing-
She had thought he wore their crest, so he must know-
Nim-ta Kal-El? Nim-ta Kal-El?
He just kept apologizing and apologizing through tears (she didn't understand the words, but she understood the tone) as he tried to hold her; as his arms wrapped around her sagging, exhausted, petrified form and all Kara remembers is that he'd lifted her hand to his heart, his loud-loud-voice rumbling through the sound of silence in the fields.
"I am Kal-El." He'd said, but she hadn't understood. "I am Kal-El." He promised and she was so tired, so small against his chest, and wept until she felt the sun on her small shoulders, trembling any moment her cousin had even hoped to move away from her.
Waking up from stasis wasn't pleasant, but Kara doesn't remember it very well—doesn't remember the Kents or much after those first few moments with Kal—so much of those first moments were a whirlwind of panic and foreign sensations; sounds she couldn't place and smells she hadn't seen and for as far as her eyes could see, stars up above. But she hadn't understood overwhelming until Clark had hefted her up onto his shoulders in Metropolis.
The buildings were as tall as they were in Argo, but there were so many of them, painted like charcoal-washed canvases in grays over what might have been whites in a past life. She had never seen so much gray—steel, she later learned—and her lungs filled with gas from the cars and the noises threatened to shove down her shoulders until she found herself a home in the ground. It was all so loud—so piercing—nothing like their quiet prosceniums and streets and there were so many people (all speaking this English) that Kara had buried herself into Clark's side so relentlessly that she had nearly knocked him over the moment they had set down in an alley.
The only time she had been calm, at all, those first few days, after all, had been when they were flying, and that had been the only way Clark could take her anywhere.
Lois' hand had nervously curled over her shoulder as Kara panted into his stomach but when Clark tipped her chin up, the sun highlighted his hair in a halo and the shadows of his blue eyes cast a watercolor all on their own. Kara hadn't known what painting was here, yet, but if she had, she would have touched the lines of his cheeks in hues of the city around her to memorize the kindness there. Her heart had settled underneath the roaring inferno of noise around her as Clark pointed up towards the sun—
"See?"
He had said in English, a young mind struggling to catch up, to understand, and she finally settled more on his eyes than on their crest, his shirt a half-shrugged mess on his shoulders in an attempt to cover blue in case any passerby had looked into the alley.
"What...see?" Kara had tried back, tongue clumsy and throat tight, fingers curling so tightly in the fray of his jacket that it ripped at the seams. It had been the fifth of them in the past three days that she'd torn with restless, anxious nails, and she had heard from Lois' murmurs that she wouldn't understand much later that Clark was running out of shirts.
"Not scary. Sol—Sol, like Rao."
"...Rao?" She swallowed and followed his finger to the sun—to the bright, yellow light—fingers relaxing a little when Lois had kneeled down behind them, whispering in her ear.
"Life." Lois had said, "Happy. Warm. The whole city, Kara—like Rao. Warm, see? Warm. Sun."
"Rao." She swallowed, not sure why there was so much moisture in Lois' eyes—in her smile—because there was so much water on Earth. There was so much water everywhere that the people themselves were filling to the brim with it. Turning back up towards Kal-El, who was too tall for his jaw and his smile. "Life…?"
She tasted the word and rushed out into the city, listening to the laughter and the smiles—like Lois—and painting the tall buildings with her thumbs. She listened to the cars screech and the horns and let the smells fill her lungs. She danced along the puddles of water (so much water!) from two days before and ran through the alleys, listening to the noise bear down her shoulders. She ran so far and saw so much and eventually Kal-El had laughed, chasing after her and dancing hands up her sides and tucking her back up on his shoulders with a squeal of laughter from young, breathless lips as she painted the sky and closed her eyes and felt Sol's kiss, truly, for the first time.
"Life!" She'd screamed, her first real Earth-word, laughing amidst a crowd of people that gave her odd, odd looks, all of them fascinating and human and underneath her and Kal-El's protection. Life she would protect.
It had all been so overwhelming to her, then. So many sounds and sights and noises and she never truly appreciated the city for what it was—not really—but she appreciates it, now. Older ears take in the faint sound of the city painting a soft undertone to the hum of a hotel's AC—she can hear a child laugh two floors down, rebellious and awake when the sun is not—she can hear, if she strains, a bellhop ring up the floor, fingers itching for a cigarette as he flicks and unflicks his lighter in the elevator. She can hear the city—can hear the wonder of it—cool but present even without Sol's beams gracing its features, muted and quiet and not nearly as overwhelming as it used to be.
Life.
And when she sucks in a slow, content breath, she can hear the softest heartbeat—strong; quicker than her sister's but just as true—barely above listening ears. Can hear the breath from Catherine's lips as it expels in a lazy smile—can hear the way her hair dances from the soft expulsion of air, fluttering underneath the dancing city lights.
She hears it and she sees it—the world—and then opens her eyes and sees the world, entirely, in a soft smile above dancing, dark eyes. Her world.
Metropolis isn't scary, anymore—Metropolis paints Catherine Grant's bare shoulders in life, and Kara has never been so selfishly glad to survive as this moment.
"You look miles away." Cat's voice is gentle and that finger has started to trace the lines of knit brows—of a faint crease that's set between them—before it once more dips down a nose, skimming along lips that can't help but part in greeting to such a knowing touch. "Head up in those stars?"
"It's been a while," It's a rasp, full of sleep but content, hands sliding up hips—underneath the edge of a tank top to curve around shoulders—fingers brushing in their own familiarity along skin and it's no small, wonderful thing that Catherine leans down into her. "Since I've stayed in Metropolis. I was just...remembering, is all."
Cat hums, maybe doing some remembering of her own. "You don't visit that best friend of yours?"
Kara's lips twitch, "About as often as he does me. I should visit more. I try to stop by, every time I go to Midvale—"
"Where Eliza lives." Cat recalls, finger skimming down to a chin—to her neck—dipping down along a clavicle underneath an unbuttoned shirt that wasn't discarded as quickly as their inhibitions, the night before.
"Who I should visit more, too." Kara nods, a little regretful, one hand slipping out from underneath the warmth of fabric to twine with the bright, moonlit hand tracing the line of her bone, raising a now-twined pair up to rest against her heart with a happy sigh. Over a suit and skin, both.
"We all have reasons to avoid our little Metropolis, don't we? Very Chekhovian."
It couldn't be more perfect if the sun had painted Catherine's hair and it's almost as overwhelming as her first footsteps into Metropolis had been, the sudden noise that erupts in Kara's throat—not loud or bombastic or unbearable, but undeniably overwhelming—because she has to physically grate her teeth from breaking the last barrier courageously standing up as a rule between them, at all.
She wants to tell her.
Because it's not the sun that paints Catherine's hair—it's the dim lights of a sleeping Metropolis, the city Kara abandoned (or would never admit that she was abandoned by) in favor of a normal life. It's the way Catherine's hair, sleep tousled and unstyled, falls in between them both like a waterfall of concessions. It's those beautiful hazel eyes, unlined and soft in that dim Metropolitan light, something close to rested and content. It's the way she doesn't ask lover to explain because Kara's fairly certain she knows why Catherine avoids Metropolis, too.
The most rebellious, awake part of Kara hates that Catherine was right—that Kara isn't sure she'll know how to sleep, again, without remembering what it felt like to wake up just like this.
The most sincere, sleepy part of herself—which is the overwhelming majority, still exhausted and content and not nearly as pragmatic as her lover—is just happy.
And utterly, shamelessly in love.
"The sun isn't up." Kara murmurs, almost accusatory, tugging Catherine closer and she's so delightfully allowed to do it, bodies molding. A hand smooths up an abdomen to rest below a breast, curling around a side.
"That would be because it's 3 AM." Cat hums, voice rough with sleep, leaning over to kiss her, lingering and quiet. "I have to leave in order to catch my plane, and you're coming with me."
"Hmm or...we could just not leave." Kara helpfully argues, nose burying itself in a warm, warm neck. Because she still is tired, and this is still…wonderful. "Go back to sleep." Her breath must heat Cat's skin, shoulders rolling into it in a way that makes Kara sleepily, happily smile.
"Hmm...tempting." Fingers are brushing through Kara's hair, holding her close against her chest and Kara's arms just wrap tighter around her, grumbling something faint as she holds her, eyelashes fluttering against skin. "Very tempting."
"Fly us back later." An aching body sags because it's been days and this is so warm. So perfect.
"She says like I can just order a plane—"
"It's a private jet. Your private jet." The argument is quiet, smiling at the sound of Catherine's laughter, rolling her lover onto her back with a happy hum, pinning her down to the bed with her weight. There's not a single ounce of fight between them. "And you are talking too much for us to be sleeping."
"Because we should not be sleeping."
"Sleep in with me." Kara tries again, softer, eyes as heavy as her body. "I'll fly you back, myself."
Cat's teeth bite at a lip, apparently at least contemplating it when arms snake around a neck and Kara can't help but kiss her. "I'm flying you back in a plane so that you're not flying and your suggested solution is to fly us both?"
"I would never let anything happen to you." Gentle, "Stay with me."
Catherine's fingers brush along cheeks as she leans up to kiss her, lingering and thoughtful in the silence of flickering city lights that settles along the wrinkled fabric of a button-up.
"That sounds…" Her breath collapses in on itself from the force of her smile, something Kara can see from a muted light that her eyes have adjusted to, darkness held at bay from the easiness of it. It brightens up the whole dark, dark hotel room and Kara kisses her, again. It feels a whole hell of a lot like victory does. "Nice."
"Because it will be. Very nice." A shake of the head, realizing— "Unless Carter-"
"Is staying with his father for an impromptu baseball trip so that I could come to Metropolis. Something Carter will likely have no interest in save for trying to bond with his father. He's staying the weekend." Grumbling, like this is something Cat has just realized and relegated herself to, "I'm going to be hearing baseball facts for the next five weeks."
"So stay." Kara kisses her again, leaning up on elbows to slot Cat closer to her chest. "Make second base."
"Oh, sports metaphors," It's a practical purr despite the laugh, "I believe it's 'get to' second base...and you do realize that's just a euphemism for getting hot and heavy like two teenagers in the back of a car at somewhere ridiculous like a drive-through or prom, right?"
"Teenagers have sex in fast food drive-thru's?" Kara's brows knit, maybe a little too tired, still, to keep up with this conversation. She can understand trying to make the best of both world but, really, even she wouldn't go that far.
"God, you're young. Not that kind of drive-thru. My point, was what's next, give me your Supergirl varsity jacket?"
"If I had a varsity jacket—I never did the sport thing, remember—I'd give it to you in a second. Although I'm pretty sure you'd never wear it." Kara runs fingers up a stomach, sneaking underneath the fabric of a tanktop to trace a happy hum along clenching muscles in twirling circles and thoughtless symbols. An errant thumb traces her house's sigil underneath a belly-button. "Stay. This isn't me pushing. I know it sounds like pushing, but I—"
"Oh, it's pushing." Cat curtails her, but that smile (a little softer) returns, hand skimming up the blue of a suit Kara hadn't had the mind to take off, the night before, muscles trembling underneath the weight of it. "But I'm the one who invited you here in the first place, wasn't I?"
"And have every right to kick me out. But I wish you wouldn—" Kara sucks in a sharp breath, sincere however exhausted she is, the gentle moment between them broken by a noise that pierces through her chest, a shrill reminder underneath the hum of the AC and the well-insulated walls. She can ignore the noises of everyone else throughout the hotel—can ignore the streets or the cars—and focus on Catherine's breath and the thrum of her heart, but it's more difficult to ignore this, even if she doesn't drop a familiar gaze.
Because Kara hears a siren in the distance, faint and true, and it straightens her shoulders before she forces herself to ease out that slow breath before it can freeze, something helped by the feeling of fingers in her hair as Catherine leans up and wordlessly kisses her.
Catherine can't hear it—shouldn't be able to—but the tense of Kara's spine must showcase enough for her to lean back and brush lips over the rise of a shoulder, over the blue of a suit, and then another kiss over the small exposed skin of a collarbone. "It's his city." Cat reminds, "Let him take one for the team."
"But, I…" Her breath quivers as she swallows, rough and patchy, fingers quivering as they curl into shoulders because it feels so selfish, to be so happy. It is. Settling on the frail, almost betraying notion, admitting: "I want to sleep. I want to sleep. I do. But maybe you're right, maybe we should—"
She's slept, but she hasn't slept enough, and her powers will be there, but her mind...her mind is right here, sagging and tired and so desperate to be content.
"So sleep, Mon oissilon." Catherine's nose nuzzles into a craning neck and Kara is too floored by the possibility of staying at all to be surprised that Cat isn't pushing her to go.
"Sleep?" It's more vulnerable in its rasp than it should be and she hears it—hears Catherine's heart kick up a few beats as the siren disappears into the foggy distance of a city that isn't hers.
"Sleep." The repetition is gentler, their eyes meeting as Kara wishes the tremble of her chin to steel itself into something stronger than the framework of the cage over her heart. It's starting to sound like the insistent, consuming beat of that drum in Jumanji until both of those fingers move down to a zipper—to the place to unbind Kara from a suit that sticks to her skin—before sliding it up and wordlessly tugging at the hem of it until weary, strong arms raise above their heads. And just like that, a rolling chill of blue slides over a chin, hair falling in curls about shoulders and body sagging into white, pristine, rumpled sheets, free from the weight of it. Their eyes meet again when the noise of it falling to the floor—the heavy stitch of an embossed crest hitting carpet—meets Kara's ears.
"Don't...don't you think I should—" It's the last, lingering hesitancy she has, teeth biting that trembling lip until she's kissed, again, soft and breathless.
The responsibility of the world doesn't just stop because it's crumpled by their bedside but the way their lips part remind Kara that she has other responsibilities, as well.
Hands slide down to her hips, freeing Kara of pants and layered red and she sighs against the cool of the room, the tremble of her back making way to contentment, the vulnerability lacing with something akin to safety when Catherine kisses her, again, Kara's fingers sliding underneath a tanktop and dragging upwards until the twinkling lights of Metropolis dance along exposed skin.
"I'm staying." Cat promises in her ear and Kara swallows as she hooks fingers underneath shorts, next, until they've made a pile of their second skins by the bed, hiding her gaze for only a moment until the same fingers that undressed her tuck up a chin. "You convinced me with an argument that, again, wasn't much of an argument, at all. But I'm staying. So should you, for the rest of the night."
"So I am that tense." Kara breathes out the revelation of a string never tied at the end, quaking at the edge, and Catherine's breathless laugh buries in her neck as she lovingly—lovingly, Kara knows—eases her down.
"Normally, I could strike a match off your spine, Kara."
"Mmm…" Clark has had a near lifetime of nights like this with Lois that it will surely interrupt, but Kara only has this—she knows she'll only have this—and she selfishly reaches up to pull Catherine closer, body settling underneath her as she listens to a heartbeat spike and then settle just like their tangled limbs. "Thank you for staying."
"You weren't the only person," Catherine swallows like the weight of the world is pressed against her throat and Kara has to pull back to see her eyes—to see the endless sincerity to them, new and dizzying and open—and maybe she's finally taught Cat that vulnerability isn't such a weakness, at all, as she brushes the hair from her lover's eyes. "That promised always, when it came to being here for you. Although I'm sure you were far too distracted to pay attention to that little detail, weren't you? You're obviously just going to go jump out of the window and run yourself into an early grave if someone doesn't monitor you." She doesn't point out there's a balcony and wouldn't be much of a reason to jump out of the window—it's an excuse Kara doesn't mind letting Cat have when her smile is that soft. "One night won't kill us—we're too strong for that."
"No, but it will make it a lot harder." Kara wets her lips, shoulders sagging into those wonderful clouds instead of shrugging, not sure why she's arguing against her own lost cause. "Not that I really care about that. If I either of us wanted easy, we wouldn't be here. And, really, we didn't even sleep the whole night, so we're making it just as hard as it was before."
"Ever the optimist." Cat's smile is indulgent and that's all they discuss about it—all they might need to discuss about it—as Kara once more settles into the bed, sheets warm underneath her skin, her own smile softening as Cat once more settles against her, feeling the tension slowly melt from her spine the longer the siren stays mute.
Cat's warmer than the sheets, naked and soft and familiar, and when their bodies slot together this time, Kara can't help it—
"Catherine." A soft, relaxing sigh, arm wrapping around shoulders as she brushes a kiss over a temple, mumbling it into warm skin and the early twilight air settling between them, Catherine's fingers brushing through hair until both of their eyes lazily meet, not bothering to hide the depth on her tongue. "Thank you—" And she opens her mouth, might even dare—
"No declarations." She feels Catherine tense a little—a breath of a noise tumble on the edge of her teeth—but she sags into the bed with her, sleepily chiding: "And before you try, it still counts as breaking the rule of you say it in another language, Kara."
"Or," It's sing-song, catching Cat's hand before it can sleepily shove at her shoulder, smiling at the noise of surprise between them when she tugs her fully on top of her, bodies easing together as their skin molds in familiarity. "It's a very good loophole. I can say it in Dzongkha if it—"
If those green eyes—so green, in the hotel, when they were so brown in the streets—weren't so bright, Kara might be worried at the look she gets, a full hand covering Kara's mouth like she might be able to kidnap the words with skin and hide them somewhere they both might not find them.
"You're impossible." The hand lowers and Catherine's fingers continue brushing through her hair as Kara holds her and eventually, that heartbeat changes from a gong to the softest flick of a xylophone in quiet, even notes. Grumbling near the edge of sleep because this week has likely taken a toll on a CEO's shoulders, as well and they deserve a full night's rest. "Fucking Dzongkha."
"Impossible, or not, Catherine." Kara whispers in promise when her lover's falls back asleep, certain she won't wake to glower or, worse, look hopeful enough that Kara might forget there were ever rules at all. "I'm yours."
And eventually Kara falls back asleep herself, the conflict melting away into peace as Catherine settles on top of her, both of them happy to avoid the world just for today, the night air of a city Kara hasn't truly missed trapped outside a pane of glass and the cool AC lulling them into a warm cocoon of tangled limbs.
The sky is warm as she flies through it, ocean reflecting in it above and when she dances her fingers through the clouds she can see the West Hills shine through them, Rao painting them in shades of red, the ocean below thrashing about until it becomes a long stream of Mercury. Long lines of spun silk twirling like a jet's trail around her heels. When Kara touches the clouds, she feels like she's running her fingers along Catherine's cheeks and can hear her mother's voice smile against her shoulder, flying beside her—always flying beside her, never lost.
See, Little One-
It's a mix of English and her native tongue stroking along the red beams of Rao and when Kara pushes her fingers further into the clouds, she can feel Catherine's lips against her own, her mother's hand falling down to her back—
It's like Rao, himself—
But the sun is setting and she turns to her mother, smiling with Catherine at her shoulder, now, knowing it will rise.
As the sun sets—
Kara.
She wants to tell her mother, she wants to show her mother—
-it will rise—
"—own decision."
The clouds and the mercury and her mother fade, but when Kara blinks Catherine's eyes are still there, darkness still at her back, and consciousness slowly seeps back because she doesn't think she's slept long. Was she sleeping? There's a weight along her back and fingers brushing along the hair by her shoulder and it's so warm that Sol must be wrapping them in blankets, but just barely. When she breathes in it smells like coffee and ink, but no perfume—just…Catherine, a second slow breath confirms—and Kara thoughtlessly curls tighter into the warmth of a body and the pillow she's claimed as her own on this large bed, mind lagging too far behind to realize she's woken up, at all.
"I think," Cat's voice isn't sad or anxious as she whispers along the shell of an ear, warm and sinfully patient—like, for once, they might have all the time in the world—and Kara focuses more on that familiar voice, now, easing her back into arms that have wrapped around her middle. So warm—like the clouds—like the sun must have felt on the hills and Kara lets out a hum of a grumble, eyes struggling to blink underneath the weight of sleep, chin tipping backward. Somehow, they'd changed positions on the bed, a warm body wrapped around her back, and Kara— "I think, Kara…" In the dim light of night in an unfamiliar city, shadows hold up the weight of an unusually timid, shy smile in dark lines and a cloud must pass over the moon because the light flickers over eyes.
Cat seems to suck in a breath with this decision of hers—the word rolls around a struggling brain—and Kara leans up to curve fingers over wrists to support her with a brush of thumbs along a quick pulse before tugging a curling body closer, snuggling back into the bed, dragging Catherine along with her.
"Hmm?"
Her lover's voice has quivered at the edges from restraint, weighed down by something imperceivably large these past few weeks but it's free, now, and the lilt of her happy, content voice sounds like a bird's wings fluttering through the night sky. Lips brush so lovingly over Kara's temple as her body molds once more against her that Kara can't breathe, "That I'm going to stay, for a while."
Kara doesn't understand what it means—doesn't understand the weight (or weightlessness, given Cat's easy smile) of it—but finds herself releasing a shuddering breath, anyways, like some part of her understands exactly what it might mean. She smiles, bright and quiet as she turns fully around, fingers raising from wrists to cup Cat's cheeks.
"Good." She decides even though she's not sure where Cat could have been going but, given Cat isn't likely to tell her, maybe she doesn't want to find out, "I think I'd like that."
"Yeah?" Catherine hums but there it is—that...something in her eyes, beautiful and unspoken—and Kara just leans up to kiss her smile.
"I think I'd like that a lot, Catherine."
Cat blinks moisture away and Kara knows better than to comment on it, shifting so that Cat can rearrange herself, sliding down to rest on her chest, over a beating, happy heart, both of them easing into the embrace and the bed. "I'm sure you would."
"Well, you know me pretty well." Kara hums, lips brushing over the crown of a head as she wraps arms around a familiar waist—as she breathes her in, "And whenever you want to tell me…" Kara isn't even sure how to voice it, the un-voiceable, "I'll be right here, waiting to listen." Another hum, eyes once more closing, nose falling to a neck as she imagines that dream—imagines fingers curving along the clouds with Catherine at her front, "Can we sleep now? Again, I mean. Back to the sleeping."
The responding laugh is quiet—easy—and when Kara squints one eye to look at her, Cat miraculously nods and shuts her eyes in response, but the soft smile seems worth waking up a thousand times.
The third time Kara wakes up, it's to the feeling of Catherine gently skimming a finger down her cheek, pleasantly on top of her, and Kara's arms wrap entirely around her, this time. The sun is up, now, and it seems Cat's had the foresight (and that's telling more than anything else, isn't it?) to gently tug open the curtains to let it spill in, warming the bed and heating Kara's skin like smooth silk curling around her shoulders. She knows for a fact that Catherine has not slept past five AM in over twenty years, so when curious eyes flick over to the clock and settle back on a smiling face, her sleepy, surprised blink is question enough.
It's eleven.
"I slept until ten." Catherine hums—almost victorious, like she's done the impossible—voice velvet even underneath the weight of the small, happy smile that spreads across her lips, Kara's fingers slowly dancing along sides, pushing up to curve along skin-along an arching back up to rolling shoulder blades as Cat stretches and then, ultimately, splays over Kara's chest, head falling to her heart with a sigh. "And I made my own decision." And it almost seems like a trick of the light, the way Cat's teeth tuck at her lower lip—the way she raises up to above Kara's lips and pecks them with such simple adoration—the way she smiles and absorbs all of the sunlight in the room like the most beautiful painting Kara's ever seen. Like a muted, beautiful watercolor of a prayer, quiet and happy and hair mussed with more sleep than either of them have likely had in…well, months.
Something tells her it's a different decision than last night, a faint memory fluttering against the edge of her mind like Catherine's voice had against the shell of her ear a few hours ago.
"You did?" Kara croaks, clearing her throat through the sleep to bring her closer, rolling them over on the bed so that she's on top of her and Cat's smile might be here to stay, nodding into the hotel's over-fluffed, expensive pillows as her hair billows around them. "Am I supposed to start guessing?"
"No." Cat chuckles, fingers skimming up Kara's cheeks and she feels like she's being painted there's so much reverence there and she has to swallow back the words dangerously on the edge of her lips—is it always going to be like this, now?—before she sits up, "Shower, room service, and then I'll tell you."
"Oh, you're right, that is infuriating." Kara pouts.
"A taste of your own medicine." Catherine decides to wipe away that pout with her smirking lips, instead, and Kara suddenly doesn't mind anymore, deepening the kiss—pushing her lover down onto the bed with a happy noise. But then Catherine's pulling away, eyes slitting like she's still bargaining terms, "No singing in the shower."
"Oh, Cat, I can't promise that." The pout is back—and it's acceptable, really, given the terms. "I'm not capable." Not when she's happy. Insistent fingers tangle with a familiar pair, raising them up to her heart in a sincere plea. "You don't like me serenading you?" Cat's eyes linger reluctantly and Kara beams because she realizes from just how sour Cat truly looks that it's the opposite. "Oh my God, you like it."
"Shut up."
"How can I when you like me," Kara teases for the thousandth time this week, no less happy and joyous as she beams and Cat looks ready to shove her out of the bed, but just presses her hand against fully against a strong Kryptonian heart, instead. "You like me crooning to you—"
"I really was not planning to reveal that little weakness."
"Too late." Kara leans forward, pecking her lips, deciding: "I'll just have to make you a mix-tape."
"Oh my God."
"What, would you rather I stand outside of your window with a boombox? Carter might get jealous. But I'll do it." Kara teases and Catherine throws half of the comforter at her when Kara starts singing Time After Time, shoulders shaking from easy laughter underneath the rustled fabric, tugging it off and shouting at Cat's retreating form, eyes falling much lower as she watches her saunter towards the bathroom. "Hey, a mix-tape is more discreet!"
The sound of running water sounds through the hotel and Kara is about to happily follow when her stomach growls loud enough for Cat to slowly—slowly—lean out of the bathroom with a raising, singular eyebrow.
It's more of an effective silencer than the comforter ever could have been, cheeks flaming red.
"Did someone say room service?" Kara yelps, already tucking up the menu because she has proper priorities, blinking at the prices because she's not even sure she can afford the water here. "Or." It's an overly-excitable chirp and Kara winces the moment her own voice hits her ears, "I can...I can just—" Cat snaps up the menu from her hands with both eyebrows raised, now.
"Stop looking like you're going to wet the bed. You know you can't afford it, why did you bother looking?"
"Well—I—well," Kara sputters, trying to sound a little righteous as a hint of a manic laugh leaves her lips, "I can't afford it, that's kind of the point of me looking like I'm going to wet the be—"
"I'm paying."
"Cat, even you can't afford to buy everything on the menu and I'm going to need everything on the menu." Kara teases.
"Kara, I can afford to buy the fucking hotel, if I wanted." Cat challenges right back.
"Oh, you're looking to go into hospitality, Ms. Grant?" Arms wrap around a waist, immediately tugging a laughing form up and into her before she dips a smiling mouth, lips nipping at a stomach, feeling well-rested muscles flex underneath her as she kisses up between breasts, marveling at the sound of breath catching underneath her tongue.
"Well I'm putting up with you, aren't I?" Cat quips and Kara's mouth opens to retort—
Her stomach growls again, louder and almost furious, and she can feel Catherine's laughter against her lips.
"If we weren't in Metropolis, I would think that was an earthquake." Kara is about to protest when Cat pushes her onto the bed, reaching upwards to grab the phone and in three quick presses of her fingers it's cemented—there's no one more beautiful on this entire planet. On any planet. "Yes, this is Cat Grant. Oh, honestly, don't start babbling—one of everything from the menu, please. I don't care that this is concierge, get it done."
The phone clicks and Cat looks so smug that Kara unreasonably clenches her thighs.
"Have I ever told you," Kara wordlessly eases both of them off of the bed and lifts Cat, ready and not phased in the least, up into her arms, standing and trotting towards steam and warmth and…the largest bathroom she's ever seen in a hotel. "Wow, what is this, an entire spa?"
"Suite." Cat reminds.
"Right." Kara shakes her head, giving her undivided attention back to the very naked, very beautiful woman in her arms. "That you are the most beautiful person alive? Like…ever."
"Yes, but why don't you tell me again?" Cat hums, legs wrapping around her waist, gasping when her back unceremoniously hits cool tile, eyes dark as Kara thoughtlessly tests the water before she slides them both into it.
(Hot enough to smelt a car, not hot enough to boil a volcano—just the right temperature for Cat, Kara's sure.)
Kara kisses her until Cat moans against her tongue, fingers raking down tile before she hefts herself higher up a clenching abdomen, hands restlessly tangling in dampening blonde locks. Unrelenting hips pin arching ones against misting ceramic (stone? Is this even ceramic?) and eager hands unravel both of Catherine's clenching legs from around her waist, spreading them and effortlessly holding her up with the underside of her palm, curving underneath one thigh to keep her here.
To keep Cat right here.
It will bruise and she'll feel guilt catching apologetic breaths later in the settling steam of open glass, but right now all she feels is the whimper that rumbles in a stubborn chest. The rarer showcase of brute strength is enough, Kara knows, for the tremble that rolls down her lover's spine but she knows the low promise of her voice is cause for the second one when she kisses her, again, free hand making a show of sliding along wet skin before she unceremoniously thrusts inside.
"Why don't I just show you?"
—
An hour later, Kara has practically eaten half of the hotel but that hasn't stopped her quest to eat the other half. She's wrapped in a white terrycloth robe—she really couldn't believe these were complimentary for use, she hasn't stayed in many hotels in her life—hair damp as she skims through the Daily Planet. Cat had side-eyed her for only a moment before humming and snapping up the unread section, heading towards the small business area, because there was nothing wrong with reading the competition as long as they didn't pay for it. Happy fingers pluck up the last bagel (Cat had joked the last bagel in Metropolis, after their feast), humming a laugh at a particular anecdote of Lois', filtering out Cat's phone call across the globe to their Japan office.
Every couple of seconds, Cat would come over and snatch another section of the paper while she waited for something to be translated. She had tried to goad Kara into translating for her—
What do you mean, no. You know fucking tagalong and zonkah—whatever the hell those are—
"Um, Tagalongs are…girlscout cookies, Cat. Delicious ones, don't get me wrong, but you mean Tagalog. And it's dzonghka. Actually. Bhutanese. Not to correct you when you're all…work-mode-y and very hot—"
"— but you don't know Japanese?"
"No, I don't. But I'm just saying that's kind of important. To not, you know…confuse a language with a cookie. I think."
"Who the hell even goes to Bhutan?"
"Well, the half a million people that live have. I heard it's nice. I could call Winn? He knows Japa—"
"Of course he does, he probably goes to bed hugging one of those animated maid girl pillows everynight."
"Well, I mean he has one, Alex got it for him last year as a gag gift, but he actually does have this really cool giant Totor…Cat?"
"Unbelievable."
"What? Where are you going?"
"Since my current translator is useless…I think I'll call the little nerd myself."
"Don't scare him too badly."
"Just enough to make a Saturday fun. Do you have the—"
"Stocks?"
"Hmm…yes. Thank you."
—to little success, but the simple act was almost domestic in a way Kara didn't have the heart to dwell on. Both of them quietly taking in the almost-afternoon sun post-shower, Cat working while Kara reads through the paper and hands up any relevant pieces she knows ever-knowing eyes will want to skim through. Despite common perception, not all of Cat's phone calls involve yelling (just…okay, a lot of them do, but not all of them) and this one is a nice change of pace for a nice day. A CEO's work never stops but it sounds, at least, like Japan is going well.
Eventually, Cat thanks Winn—sincere and with first name and all—and Kara knows that it will be a favor inevitably repaid and she tries not to smile when she overhears (not intentionally, she just hears some things, really) the soft hitch to the ever-professional tone, Catherine responding with a simple:
Of course, Winn. Thank you.
Before the professionalism is back and she reminds her ex-employee of the strict NDA he signed with a lifetime membership of silence.
Kara smiles up at her lover when the phone sets down along with a flicked edge of the Planet section she'd read during the call, a powerful stride not negated in the least by a matching, flowing white terry-cloth robe.
"Is everything—"
"I've arisen to a decision." Cat announces like they're at a board meeting but her smile is far gentler than it was on the phone a few moments ago, knees resting against the edge of the bed inbetween Kara's own. Kara just stares at her, half a bagel hanging from her mouth, slowly lowering the paper (she might have finally made her way to the cartoon section and doesn't exactly want Cat to see her reading that, anyways) in order to take her lovers' firm nod in, arms immediately coming up to wrap around a waist.
"O...kay."
"Stop eating." Cat rolls her eyes at the pout that immediately forms, snatching away the bagel to an indignant noise, a muffled hey stemmed by the very serious look on familiar features. "It's not going anywhere Kara, Jesus. I promise you the food service will answer the moment I call. Now, again, I—" She waves a hand up towards her own beautiful face, popping one shoulder in a pose legally trademarked. Kara knows, because she had to figure out how to explain it to the lawyer two years ago.
She's still not really entirely sure it was legal to trademark, but the lawyer somehow pushed it through for them, anyways.
"Why are you doing the pose from-"
"Kara." Cat snaps fingers in front of her face. "Focus. Me. We're having me time."
"Okay. I'm focused."
"Me time." Cat repeats and when Kara's eyes flick over to the bagel Cat snaps again. "Ahh—me time."
"I'm not a dog." Kara whines and then realizes that is very dog-like, so she raises her hands, instead, pointing both fingers to her lover in a green light. "Ok. Sorry. Cat time. I'm present. I'm here. I'm in this. Go."
"Hold your applause until the end, please," Cat hums and Kara smiles because, oh, her lover's on a victory high of her own, isn't she? Japan must have gone well.
"No promises."
"But I, the great, talented," Cat slides up the bed into Kara's arms, robe-clad biceps flexing as they immediately wrap around to steady her. "Very successful Cat Grant…" It's a hum and Kara doesn't bother hiding the shiver up her spine as she pulls Cat up into her lap, "...am moving onto my next venture. And I'm not talking about CatCo's latest string of very impressive acquisitions, one of which is none other than a Japan branch starting in two months. Oh, no-no."
That explains it.
"Bigger than Japan?" Kara smiles, "Don't tell me you finally agreed to that commercial for Jell-o-"
"No. Greater than television. Greater than Jell-o." Kara doesn't want to argue that there's not many things greater than Jell-o, an edible substance that can defy gravity and take hilarious forms of any mold she might put it in. "Greater than media, itself. I am moving onto the next greatest possible achievement a woman could surmount—"
"You know Katie Couric was just goading you about climbing Everest, Cat. But if you really want, I could just fly you up to the top—"
"Stop guessing." Cat places her whole hand over Kara's face and a laugh rumbles against skin, letting out a hum of acknowledgement, mumbling against fingers that just half an hour ago were far more pleasantly-occupied—
"If you wanted to shut me up, you should have just—" Without a word, Cat shoves the bagel into Kara's mouth, the superhero humming with a happy sigh, using one arm to lift Cat up while she adjusts, ripping it in half and placing it aside with a smile because, teasing or not, Cat is more important.
And she's definitely greater than jell-o.
"I've decided to sell CatCo."
"...what?" It's a noise muffled around the bagel, cheeks puffed out and wide because she's certain she misheard it, cream cheese caught on her upper lip.
"Well, I guess I decided to sell CatCo years ago, to share-holders so that my empire and legacy wouldn't crumble underneath an idiotic presidency while I was losing my stock market hold. Selling your soul for a business is the American dream. What I should say…" Cat is no longer striking a pose and Kara can see it, now, the way the sun catches at the edges of her eyes, arms wrapping around Kara's neck as she straddles her hips fully, robe sliding up thighs and Sol dances against skin like the water of a tide skimming along a beach. "Is that I've decided to slowly concede my role, step back into an advisory position, and finally let someone else take the reins, for a change."
Kara just blinks. Swallows, and then blinks, again. "So you're...you're thinking of stepping down? At CatCo."
"Someday. Not soon, of course, but...someday, once I've trained an adequate replacement." A hand pulls back to wipe away cream cheese before sucking lightly on a thumb, "Come on, Kara, you knew this day would come—"
"Honestly? I'm not so sure I did." She breathes. "But you look...you look so happy about this that I'm going to adamantly remind you that my surprise in no way, shape, or form means I'm not supportive. Way supportive."
"You always are. To a fault."
"I mean, I just was always so certain you were going to have everyone bury you in your desk at the ripe young age of 205 after taking over the world from CatCo—" Kara rambles a bit, not entirely kidding, but Cat just gives her a cutting look.
"While ergonomic and suitable for everyday use and some of our better late-night activities, a german-engineered desk is not something I want to be buried in. It's not even mahogany, Kara. I have standards."
"I mean, your arrangements explicitly stated—" Kara rambles a little bit more because she can't seem to stop, shaking her head to look back up, "Okay, that's beside the point. I'm taking it in, I'm sorry. Change."
"Change." Cat agrees and Kara lets out a short breath through her nose, nodding, a hint of Kryptonian nerve lining her jaw because she means it, she wants to be supportive.
"So…"
"So." Cat's jaw tips back, "I'm...slowly untangling myself from CatCo. From my legacy. From the media, the monotony, and the humdrum boring everyday life and going back to what I always wanted to do, other than kick ass and take names. Which I do on a daily basis." Cat gives her a look and Kara holds up her hands when the pause goes on a little longer than it should, one of which immediately wraps back around a slim waist to steady her.
"Agreed, you just told me to hold my applause." Their eyes meet and Cat's are…bright and twinkling and Kara can't remember the last time Catherine looked so...light, and suddenly any of her apprehension fades away. Change doesn't look so scary when it looks so…free. "So...well, you obviously have a plan outside of just leaving—"
"Ah-ah, not leaving." Cat seems intent about that word, "I'll still be acting chair, just…" She huffs out of her nose and Kara brushes fingers along her cheek, trying to be supportive because this shouldn't turn into a board room announcement.
"So," Kara continues, "You must have a plan outside of that. Of finding a replacement. When you made me arrange your funeral arrangements after that Leslie kidnapping—"
"Ah, one of my more morbid but necessary moments." Cat recalls with a hum before she slits her eyes. "What is it with you talking about my funeral, exactly? I'm not dead. Seriously, your death-kick lately is worse than that girl in Beetlejuice."
Kara ignores that.
"—you were adamant about me making sure they buried you with a typewriter, a bottle of your finest whiskey, and a fail-safe escape route in-case you really could work from the dead. Which I'm still not entirely sure if you were kidding about, by the way, so I have feeling one day Eve is going to stumble across some really worrying schematics in that desk. You're not going to just stop working."
Cat, unphased, offers with a sly smile but Kara sees it—sees the hint of something else at the corner of her eyes—and Kara's stomach clenches:
"I'm writing again."
"You are?" Kara's smile spreads, "Cat, that's great."
"No ghost writers, this time. No bombastic stories or re-tellings. I'm writing a book," She hesitates, tipping Kara's chin up just a little, "I'm writing it on you."
Kara, who's picked that unfortunate time to take another bite because she thought they were onto happier revelations, chokes on the bagel.
"W—h—cuse me?"
"Breathe."
"Trying." Kara coughs, pulling back just enough to swallow, careful not to drop Catherine as she somehow manages to clear enough of an airway to speak and looks back up. Cat doesn't look particularly worried about her dying. "I don't—you—what?"
"Not just you, Kara, but heroes. Of the super kind, of course. Not for the ratings or the raves or the obvious key puff of it—not for the Trib or for CatCo, at all." Cat shakes her head, hands skimming up to brush along Kara's cheeks, "I'm writing this for the world, not for the raves. I want to write a book about your home—about your origin, about Super—" A pause, intentional in a way Kara's softening eyes showcase her appreciation for: "Kal-El's origin—and all of the heroes on Earth. That funny little Martian man Olivia is always talking about, even. Maybe even that godawful brooding bat who's the walking eyesore epitome of gothic mancave incarnate." There's that look, again, soft and piercing and almost hesitant as Cat sucks in another short breath through her teeth, "And I'd like your guidance in writing it."
"My—" A tongue darts out over suddenly dry lips, blinking but Catherine is surprisingly patient, fingers pushing up from cheeks into hair.
"You're a hero, Kara, so, yes. Your guidance. I'll have a firmer pitch after I talk to my editor next week, so don't give me a hard no until you've thought it over, of course, but it would require you telling me about your history and…being comfortable with the world wanting to hear it."
Kara pauses, searching familiar features—lifting a bagel-less hand to skim along her jaw—before she nods, promising, "I'll think it over."
"That's all I ask."
The fact that Cat's come to her without a hard pitch is more telling than anything else.
"But you writing," Kara presses, lips finding a much easier smile—finding this much easier to focus on, in the bright light of Metropolis—leaning up to catch Cat's lips, "That's exciting."
"Oh, it is." It lingers and when Catherine's lips tip upwards in a smile, Kara can feel it, all of her breath lost when her lover breathes in, like she's stolen her soul itself from the gentle skim of her tongue along a lower lip, "I've kept my prose from the world for too long, I think. And I want—" It doesn't matter how many times Cat kisses her, Kara always forgets how to breathe when teeth tug at her lower lip, "To celebrate. Don't you?"
Kara's hand restlessly skims along the bed, knocking the lingering plates onto the soft carpeted floor, tugging Catherine the rest of the way on top of her before fingers skim up the same path the sun had traced before, sliding underneath the soft snow of a robe to seek the warmth of an unburdened hip. Cat's nails skim along curving shoulders until Kara's own robe pools in a white sea of mercury behind them as her palm flattens over Kara's quickening heartbeat.
"Yes." Kara barely has the breath to agree.
And the smug, happy smile on Catherine's lips when she shoves her down onto the bed with that one hand that has more power over Kara than all of the radioactive meteorites of Krypton combined is one of the most beautiful things she's ever seen, because this is her moment—this is Catherine's moment—and it's not lost on Kara that this is them sharing it.
Catherine is straddling her in a sea of clouds with the sun on her bare shoulders, smiling down at her like she's won the war of life, itself, and Kara is her prize.
And it's definitely not lost on Kara that she would rather never be anywhere else when lips trail down a craning neck in hot, skimming nips of teeth and tongue to her breasts, back arching off of the bed when Cat unceremoniously lifts an impatient hand up to her right, fingers already moving along straining skin.
"Cat—" Kara's eyes close and the only thing she sees is the faded outline of Catherine's tongue swirling along her nipple before roughly tugging it into her mouth, unable to focus on any image after that, at all, fingers restlessly raising to tangle in damp, unkempt blonde locks. "Rao, you're beautiful." It's a murmur, transfixed when she opens to see her—to see Catherine naked and open and celebratory and straddling her, breast in her mouth—and she is.
She's so beautiful.
Lust-filled eyes slowly open and when their eyes meet, even superspeed is barely enough to catch Cat when she launches herself back upwards, their mouths meeting in a bruising kiss.
Kara wonders if she would have bruised, if Cat had kissed her like this, yesterday, or if Cat's been bruising her underneath her skin for months, now. If everytime Kara traces her lips she'll feel Cat there, loving and rough and everything Kara could ever want—
Her mouth wrenches away to breathe, trailing down a neck as Cat's hand rakes nails between breasts—a panting chest—a clenching stomach—arching hips—
It doesn't even go past the first note before Kara hears Cat's growl.
It's been-one week since you looked at me-
Despite herself, Kara can't help but laugh—half groan of frustration and half of amusement—lips on a neck spreading into a smile against warm skin as the familiar ringtone blares through the large hotel, the silence of such a private space interrupted by the lively vocals of one Ed Robertson.
Five days since you laughed at me—
Cat looks less than pleased at the laugh and Kara tips back bright eyes to kiss her underneath the sound of it, "I'm sorry."
She's so, so sorry, because Cat's hand is so close—
"I'm going to throw your phone out of the window." Cat vows as Kara kisses her, again, laughing against her lips, a little brighter.
"These windows don't open. And the balcony is too—hey!" It's definitely a hint of superspeed, now, that allows her to hop back from a quick swat, happy to see a hint of humor replacing the frustration in dark eyes as Kara rolls them over on the bed, pinning dangerous wrists to the bed, a low, low noise that only Cat has ever risen out of her trembling when her lover's knee pointedly slides between parted legs in retaliation. "Oh…" Her chin tips back and teeth skim along a neck and—
IT'S BEEN ONE WEEK—
There it is, again. That loud, almost passive aggressive robot and this time—one of many times her sister has interrupted them—a curse tumbles out of her lips in English.
"I'm sorry." Kara repeats, breathless and wet and likely staining Cat's knee with regret before she flops back over the side of the bed, rifling through the lump of clothes next to their well-used bedside, desperately trying to re-focus her sight to either find the damn phone or laser it once and for all.
"Anytime I listen to 90's radio I become inexplicably frustrated. It's a Pavlovian response."
DROPPED YOUR ARMS TO YOUR SIDES AND—
"Would you like me to change it?" She tosses Cat's shorts halfway across the room and nearly knocks over a lamp that would likely cost more than her rent, "We can move on to some Annie Lenox—really kill the bands you love."
GONNA DO—
"And who, pray tell, told you I liked Annie Lenox?" Cat pinches one of her cheeks and Kara yelps through a scandalized laugh—swatting backwards as she desperately sifts through her super-skirt.
"Oh, I don't know, all of the Spotify playlists I had to sift through to re-arrange all of your pilates workout mixes for two yea—where in the world is—hey!"
IT'S. BEEN. ONE. WEEK—
Cat bites the skin instead of pinching it, now, and Kara's protest might not be nearly as firm as it should be, because a yelp shouldn't sound nearly so much like a moan.
"Dearest stalker, do I have to remind you that you also signed an NDA—"
"I'm changing it to Annie Lenox if you don't sto—" The 'p' is cut off when she finally finds the phone and flips around onto her stomach just in time to watch Cat practically pounce on her, the sound of the phone once more thumping on the ground lost amidst a roaring laugh from the taller blonde when Cat's hands move to her sides.
It's a mixed bag that Catherine figured out pretty early on that Kara's skin was particularly sensitive in some areas because as impervious as she is, some areas are utter weaknesses. Her neck, to Cat's teeth—her heart, to Cat's lips—and her sides, to Cat's relentless fingers tickling like she's honed this particular skill-set with a son across the country.
REALIZED WE'RE BOTH TO BLAME—
Kara's yelp is lost to an unending string of broken laughter, barely catching Cat in a protective arm before her back hits the floor with a dull thud, ungracefully falling off of the bed and skidding across carpet in a mess of naked limbs and sheets. But those knowing fingers are relentless and Supergirl, in her time of great duress, knows only one action will save her. Scrambling and desperate to not use her powers, she bats away at Cat's hands as she pushes heroically towards the phone to the sight of amused green eyes, breathless by the time she lifts it up mid third-call to her ear—
-SORRY—
Laughter still rolling from her tongue as Cat makes her way on top of her, perching backwards on hips she's once more straddled to look even more smug and beautiful and—
"Kara? What the f—"
"Alex!" The mortification settles when she realized she's already answered the phone in her haste to lift it up to her ear, shooting a halfhearted glare down towards Catherine, who looks anything but dismayed. If anything, Cat looks practically impish, sliding down to trail a kiss up her hip to a spreading fire of blush up Kara's cheek when she hears her sister's voice on the other end. Because Alex probably just got an ear-full of an unrestrained laugh.
"What the hell was—"
"Oh, someone just—" Her voice trembles, an octave higher than it should be, lowering a hand to cover Catherine's laugh with curling, happy fingers the moment it sounds through the room, "Stoppp." She begs—pleads—because she can barely breathe and Cat laughing is just going to start her going, again, even if her fingers have stopped their torment. "Not you, Alex. I just—hi." She clears her throat again, sounding much better the second time, "Everything okay?"
"Okay, I'm not even going to ask." There's a moment's pause and Kara can just see Alex's eyes slitting, "Right now. I'm not going to ask right now. I don't think I want to know. But I'm asking later. Everything's okay." One good thing about the past exhaustion of the week is that Alex doesn't even try to tease her about the state of the city, probably out of fear of Supergirl immediately showing up at the DEO, and for once, Kara's genuinely glad for the respite. Even with Cat's lips slowly skimming up her hips to her stomach, lazy in a way Kara's so glad she's learned she can be.
Because it means their cheeks are both red with laughter (Kara's maybe equal parts embarrassment and laughter)—because it means Cat's so content. Because it means Cat's on the floor with her, right now, happy and ridiculous and victorious.
"Are you okay?" Kara sits up a little and Cat stops at that, eyebrows raising and fingers idly raise from the tangled sheets, their little white casualties of war on the floor, to brush drying hair out of dark, familiar eyes—a thoughtless gesture—humming happily at the repetition:
"Everything is okay. I was just checking to make sure you slept instead of, I don't know, saving a bus-full of drowning orphans?"
Brows knit, "Please tell me a bus-full of orphans was in no danger of drowning, today."
"Well the semantics of that are more than worrying." Cat murmurs and Kara assumes there's no cause for alarm because if there had been a bus-full of drowning orphans, last night, she's certain Cat Grant would have known the moment she checked her phone.
"No, I was just—it was an example, no drowning bus-fulls of orph—"
"Have you slept?" Kara presses, fingers stilling, a hint of guilt settling in her chest in this too-big hotel suite—a little bit from that too-big bed in this too-big city—because Cat had done for her what Kara had undoubtedly done for her sister and what Alex had valiantly tried to give to her.
But Kryptonians are stubborn, through and through.
The two people she likely doesn't have to explain that to were either on the floor with her, looking pleased and light, or huffing out a sigh at her through the phone line, a country away.
"How did this become about me, exactly? I was calling to check on you, remember?"
"Alex."
"I'm fine." There's a second grating sigh there but Kara doesn't detect any hint of twists or turns on her sister's tongue, nodding, once more resuming her fingers' dance through Cat's hair, a lithe form taking that as a sign to once more crawl up her body, settling happily over Kara in beautiful shadows, hiding the open sunlight from the windows with much warmer skin. "So...since you're not at your apartment, are you over at Cat's?"
"What? Why would you think I'm—" Her eyes close, realization settling as she laughs, quieter than the guffaw moments before, almost relieved, "Oh, Carter. No, um...he's at some...baseball game out of state with his dad, this weekend. I'm actually in Metropolis."
"You're in Metropolis?" The surprise is clear there and Kara bites teeth into a lip when Cat once more kisses up her collarbone to her neck and she tries not to gasp into the phone, teeth biting a little harder into her lip so that she doesn't suddenly think it's a good idea to bite something else.
"I-yeah. I'm in Metropo...lis." Cat's mouth finds that particularly sensitive spot and Kara is torn between leaning closer and running away. "I just popped in to see Lois and I'm supposed to have lunch with—" Oh. Oh she definitely feels wrong saying Eliza's name, at all, when Cat's mouth is doing that, deciding her second option wasn't the most wanted, but most necessary of all evils, quickly untangling herself and stumbling on uneasy knees back from the floor and the sheets and the bed and a very satisfied-looking lover. "Eliza? Oh, I—can I—" She trips over the clothes she'd scattered so carelessly around the room a minute before, legs suddenly useless and mouth dry at that look in dark eyes. "Can I call you back?"
"What? I mean, sure but—"
Kara covers the mouthpiece, holding up a hand like she's desperately trying to tame a lioness intent on eating her when Cat slowly raises up from the floor, predatory and smirking.
"Okay, is this about threatening to change it to Annie Lenox? Because I'm sorry—I'm sorry, okay?"
"Are you sure you're okay? This is beyond weird behavior. Even for you. Hello, Earth to Krypton. Are you there?"
"Yeah, what? Hah! I'm fine. Pfft, totally...okay." She backs up until her bare shoulders are against the nearby wall, Cat advancing like the killer in Scream, not particularly concerned with her languid pace. "I'm just having...lunch? Lunch. With an old friend—"
"Old?" Now Cat looks a bit like a real serial killer and Kara hastily moves to clarify over the phone.
"Old as in long-time friend who is very attractive and not at all intimidating and, wow you look great, is what I meant by old, not—"
"Attractive?"
"Very." Kara blinks because she realizes she's said that to her sister, and not just to the woman once more advancing towards her, "I mean, in a—we're just having lunch and—" Cat, unexpectantly laughs—no mercy—and Kara just groans.
This, she hopes, is punishment enough, cheeks brighter than the God she finds herself praying to this very moment.
"Oh my God." There's a long pause and Alex practically hisses, "Do not tell me you are you sleeping with someone right now?"
"What?" Kara yelps, eyes wearily darting from an advancing Cat to the phone, "No, I am not sleeping with someone. Right now. That's—why would you think I'm—"
"Oh, God. Please tell me that you did not pick up the phone during—"
"I should really go."
"Is this why you've been so—"
"Gotta go!" Kara repeats clicking off the phone the moment Cat leaps up into her arms, catching her and whirling her around to press a back against the wall in a seamless effort, thankfully far more graceful than she was backpedaling a few moments before.
"Well, there goes that secret." Cat drones before kissing her, dangerous and consuming and Kara has to take a moment to remember where she even is when their lips barely part, humming despite the following protest:
"Hey, there's a chance she doesn't know. I could always employ your most famous anti-paparazzi technique."
"Hmm…" Cat's brows raise, nails once more dragging down her chest. "Avoid, avoid, avoid, deny, deny, deny?"
"No." Kara hisses when teeth tug at her ear, flattening both of them up against the wall so that she can breathe, "Just don't talk about it."
"Oh, so you're a Republican, now."
For both of their benefits, Kara's gasps, pulling away to hide her smile but not laughing eyes. "Ms. Grant, I'm offended."
"Not as offended as I am to be kissing a Republican." Cat's thumb brushes over her lower lip.
"It's not like I'm about to start talking about trickle-down economics and—"
"Don't make me kick you out of bed, Kara."
"We're not in a bed." That hint of a smile dangerously threatens to flutter up Cat's lips.
"Okay, I officially do not like this side of you. Cheeky."
"What can I say?" Kara smirks, hands sliding down lower and fingers curling until Cat gasps into her ear, "You bring out the best in me."
"Back on the bed," Cat orders without a single moment's hesitation, breath hot against her ear, fingers chasing comet trails of heat down unmarred skin, "So that I can fuck you properly without interruption, this time."
Kara doesn't even bother getting out a word edge-wise, obedient and eager, immediately falling backwards onto the nearby bed and sprawling for one, anxious, desperate moment before Cat once more pounces.
They wind up christening the hotel room in more ways that Kara could have possibly imagined and when the sun lowers, she feels like a fully-charged battery, hesitating for only a moment as her fingers skim along the ribbed blue of a hero's uniform.
The city has quieted outside the walls of this wonderful hotel room and Kara never wants to leave.
"I promise I won't drop you, Cat." It's more than a promise, it's a fact, trying to ignore the way the words husk along the edge of her tongue because the moment the sun set, she felt the warmth of it leave in more ways than one.
But dreams, just like her mother's last words, have a habit of staying with her.
Every time the sun sets, on the hills—
"You better not." It's a hum, but Catherine hasn't dressed, yet, fingers lingering along a pair of earrings set carefully aside on the bedside table, one of them returned the night before. The lights of Metropolis dance gold hues around the room as her nail dips along what must be cool metal and Kara carefully slides up behind her, their eyes slowly raising to meet in the mirror right above it. It's a rare commodity that she always values, the sight of Catherine's body easing backwards into her presence. "I know you never would, Kara. But…perhaps it would be better if you flew back, tonight, and I left in the morning." It's quiet and Kara's glad that it at least sounds hesitant and she smiles—she tries to, she does—because a night should be enough to last a lifetime, shouldn't it?
"Are you sure? I don't mind bringing you back. I don't have to stay, but it…" Kara sucks in a sharp breath, molding the rest of the distance between them, fingers apologetically skimming along the bruise along Cat's thigh, arm wrapping around her waist, lips brushing over a temple. And she breathes her in like she does everytime—like it might be the last. "It would always make me feel better to know you're safe, myself."
"The plane will be fine."
Kara's eyes flick downwards to watch Cat's knuckles turn white around the gold of earrings, fingers gingerly moving down to ease along the skin there, promising—her second in the span of a few seconds—
"It's okay, Catherine. Really. I understand." Those fingers tremble and Kara lifts one up to her lips, hoping her smile is encouraging enough for the both of them, not pulling away until she feels Cat's small tremor stop.
And she has to pull away—has to put some distance between them—turning away to close her eyes and swallow, eyes wetter than they ever should be for something so small and simple, trying to hide the way her own fingers trembling as they move to slide a sigil over her chest and—
She's halted in the motion by arms wrapping around her waist, holding the symbol of her house against skin as white, resolute fingers ease Kara's trembling hands like she had to Catherine's a moment before. The breath swells so painfully in her chest that she's worried she's accidentally frozen it inside of herself, instead, petrified as she slowly turns around, blinking away moisture to look questioningly into her lover's eyes.
Into Cat—whose eyes are far less resolute than her fingers, brimming with an ocean before she nods, another decision of many settling between them.
"Kara…" Catherine tugs her closer, Kara's feet tangling in a pile of discarded clothes, gasping a breath out between them from the sharp motion and gladly—always gladly—letting Cat pull her as close as she likes. Their lips are so close she can taste her and Kara doesn't ask her—won't ask her—but if her breath could form words out of wisps, alone, she would beg—
Catherine sucks in a sharp gust of air through her nose, only the quiet rattle of the breath swelling her shoulders showcasing any hint of apprehension or nerves, at all, as the weight of it might settle between them. But her voice is casual as a tongue darts out over a lower lip, dark eyes settling on Kara's mouth before they track upwards and stay, even more dangerously, on Kara's eyes.
Kara, who smiles even before she offers.
"I suppose we never did…get that weekend at the beach house."
Kara pushes her back into the hotel with a gust of super speed that rattles the glasses on the suite's small bar—
"Oh, that's still so fucking—"
Nails curl in shoulders as the wind settles in the room and Kara never gets to hear the end of that sentence because Catherine is too busy throwing her supersuit halfway across the room and kissing her for Kara to care.
Maybe two days, Kara prays—maybe two days will be enough to last a lifetime.
Rule #49. Enjoy it while it lasts. The city comes first. If it needs to end, it needs to end.
There's another addition, almost quiet with its light scrawl in pencil at the bottom, a stark contrast to a list written in pen.
When the sun sets on the West Hills...
Notes:
**Kryptonian Translations**;
*Zha: No. ("Zha-ehd" would mean "stop" or "no more") Interjection P: [ʒæ]; K: ZA
*Kryptahnium: Kryptonian (person/lineage) Noun P: [kɹɪp.tɑ ] K: kryptanúm
**Nim-ta Kal-El : This would essentially mean "Where is Kal-El?" Or "Who is Kal-El"; essentially "hey house-brother man, take me to my lil cuz pls"
**Khahp nahzhgehn khap This phrase would essentially mean "Are you like me" meaning - "Are you Kryptonian?" or even further "Are you of my house?"